Review: True Colors’ ‘Jaja’s African Hair Braiding’ plaits multiple emotions into one day

At one point in True Colors’ sublime production of Jocelyn Bioh’s Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, which runs through March 9, two characters have this exchange: “It will all be OK.” “What if it is not?” “Then it will not be. And after that, it will be OK.”

These realistic yet oddly reassuring words have been tumbling through my head over the last several days as we reel, collectively, from the continuing onslaught of mean-spirited executive orders, firings of thousands of federal workers, cuts in funding for necessary health research and international aid programs and reports of sweeping ICE raids (among so much else).

Although Jaja debuted before the 2024 election, it’s as timely as ever and a smart choice to kick off True Colors’ new season. This season’s theme, “Blackness is Not a Monolith,” was introduced in a pre-curtain speech by Managing Director Chandra Stephens-Albright as programming to showcase the different ways that Blackness shows up globally. And it’s off to a phenomenal start.

Playwright Bioh is a prolific, distinctive, funny and assured voice among our contemporary playwriting powerhouses — and a savvy choice to bring audiences in after an unusually dormant production period for True Colors. 

In early February, I was able to witness Bioh’s other work at the Kennedy Center’s Region 4 American College Theater Festival. That production was met (by a primarily Gen Z audience) with a similar level of rapt engagement, laughter and appreciation as Jaja was — the latter during a rainy matinee performance at the Southwest Arts Center, where True Colors is a company in residence.

We follow a single pivotal day in the lives of the customers and employees of a bustling Harlem hair braiding shop owned by the eponymous Jaja, who doesn’t make an entrance until later in the show but whom we get to know through everyone else’s account of her.

This also happens to be the day of Jaja’s wedding to a wealthy white man named Steven Jacobson — something she hopes will bring stability and security to her and her daughter, Marie (Asha Basha Duniani). We don’t meet Jaja until the show’s final act, but, when we do, veteran actor Aba Arthur strides in, decked out in elegant bridal finery, with a burst of charisma, movie star energy and dreaminess.

In just a single day, we experience every possible emotion and life beat: drama, romance, betrayal, joy. A standout in this superlative cast is Zora Umeadi as the hilariously outspoken Bea, one of Jaja’s oldest friends and the queen bee (likely pun intended) of the operation. There’s also Ndidi (Ernaisja Curry), with whom Bea has a rivalry over what she perceives as stolen clients. 

There’s Aminata (Shakirah DeMesier), whose smooth-talking husband is one of the rotating characters embodied with comedic gusto by the one male cast member, Dane Troy. And then there’s Miriam (a quietly forceful Adetinpo Thomas), who gets to shine in a standout monologue, recounting how she ended up in this shop, working up funds to reunite with her young daughter.

Paris Cymone does triple duty as several of the different clients coming through the doors and is clearly having a ball doing it. In a nice, specific touch, which gives plenty of extra energy and motion to the comings and goings throughout the day, new clients and potential stylists are required to go outside to negotiate prices away from other customers’ ears.

Finally, Duniani turns in an especially vulnerable and nuanced performance as Jaja’s daughter, Marie, who’s caught between worlds. She has received a fancy private education courtesy of her mother’s successful business and a generous amount of sacrifice. But she’s also buckling under the weight of first-generation expectations — her mom wants her to become a successful doctor or engineer, but she yearns to become a writer.

At the helm, Director Ibi Owolabi expertly conducts her stellar cast — most of whom remain on stage for the entire 90-minute run time — like a finely tuned orchestra. We never lose interest or focus as characters rotate stations, enter and exit the shop, take smoke breaks, lose their cool and try to pass off the more demanding (or rude) customers to their co-workers.

In the program, Owolabi notes her personal connection to the material: She grew up around the hair supply store in Kennesaw run by her Nigerian and Dominican immigrant parents. 

Other reasons to see this show include Moriah and Isabel Curley-Clay’s bright, warm and dexterous set; stunning costume design by Jarrod Barnes; and the wig design by Dinesha Hayes, which deservedly gets a stand-alone credit. (Fun fact: After this play’s Broadway debut, it won a special Tony Award for wig design, along with a trophy for best costume design. It also earned a  best play nomination.)

Overall, Jaja is the kind of comedy for our present moment — one that gives us enough laughs to temporarily forget our woes while also not hiding from the sorrow and strife that we’re living through. In the background is the constant looming threat that many people are currently facing because they don’t yet have official citizen status. But, ultimately, what we’re also witnessing is how community in its most potent form can get us through the unimaginable.

Without spoilers, I will say that there is devastation among the many delights here. But, like the gorgeous hairstyles that emerge from patiently sitting in the shop chairs, there are rewards aplenty once you take your spot among the audience. Hands down, this is one of 2025’s best theatrical offerings in Atlanta so far.

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Alexis Hauk has written and edited for numerous newspapers, alt-weeklies, trade publications and national magazines, including Time, The Atlantic, Mental Floss, Uproxx and Washingtonian. Having grown up in Decatur, Alexis returned to Atlanta in 2018 after a decade living in Boston, Washington, D.C., New York City and Los Angeles. By day, she works in health communications. By night, she enjoys covering the arts and being Batman